


The End of the Line

by ADarkenedSinner



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 22:06:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11564280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADarkenedSinner/pseuds/ADarkenedSinner
Summary: An alternate outcome to the final fight the occurs in Civil War.Song Inspiration: Hurt by Johnny Cash





	The End of the Line

I buried my best friend today.

My hands flex at my sides, reopening the cracks and blisters on my palms. Insignificant wounds I suffered from doing the one last decent thing I could do for him. The ache of them is simply added to the other aches in my battered body. 

None of which compared to the deep ache in my chest.

His grave, the one I spent hours meticulously digging, is at my feet. And he's laying beneath six feet of tightly packed earth, when he should be standing by my side. 

He's laying there because of me. 

I brought him here from the base in Siberia, a part of my mind that wasn't fogged with grief remembering that I had intended on making this our home. He would have liked it here, in the middle of nowhere, with forest surrounding us on three sides and a river lazily running past just twenty yards from our front door. 

He would have found peace here. 

I suppose in a way he has. 

When I thought of bringing him home, I always imagined leading him through the front door of the modest two bedroom cabin and how he would give me that gentle smile of his. I imagined his clear blue eyes roving over every detail of our home, from the furniture I’d painstakingly picked out to the mementos from our youth kept safe in the shadow boxes adorning the walls. 

I imagined how his hand would close over mine, and how it would look as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders for the first time in seventy years. 

I imagined him finally saying that he loved me. 

All that was stolen from me the instant the blast from Stark’s suit burned a hole clean through his chest. 

Instead, I had carried my love, my Bucky, through the door without caring that I kicked it so hard it fell off the hinges. I stripped him of the gear that made him the Winter Soldier, trying so hard not to look at his ruined chest, though my eyes kept straying to the bleeding hunk of flesh that once held his heart. 

My fault. All my fault. 

I did the best I could with bathing him and washing away the blood that was caked on his face. A super soldier’s strength didn't count for squat when dealing with rigor mortis, though. 

I dressed him in a suit that I had tucked away in the closet. I had planned on wearing it the day I proposed to him. It was navy blue, a color he always loved on me...though the color always suited him better.

I combed his damp hair back, away from his now pale face. Even used a bit of pomade to keep the fly always down. Bucky was always particular about how he liked to wear his hair…

I kissed chilled lips that should have been rosy and warm with life and wondered yet again what it would feel like to have those lips lovingly brush against mine. 

I'll never know. Because he's gone. 

I left him laying in what was supposed to be our bed as I set off on my next task - digging his grave.

I retrieved the shovel from the workshed and picked out a spot under an ancient oak that sat between the cabin and the river. The spot would have been perfect for picnic lunches, or for us to just hold each other while we listen to the river sing to itself. 

It seemed to be the best resting place I could give him. 

The act itself might have only taken an hour or so, but it felt like eternity. I didn't shed a tear the entire time. Grief had folded itself around me like a numbing shroud and I gave into it as I heaved shovelful after shovelful of dirt over my shoulder. 

I went back for his body after the deed was done, cradling Bucky to my chest while it finally dawned on me that this was the last time my arms would ever be around him. And when I went to lay him down on the cold earth in the bottom of the grave, I didn't want to let go. I was so tempted to just lay there with him. Curl up against his cold body and wait for death to claim me. It would have taken a while, but then neither of us would have to be alone…

But I don't deserve death, no matter how much I wish for it. I deserve to live out every day in misery for the rest of the years that stretch ahead of me. This will be my punishment, my self appointed hell.

My selfish lips sought his one last time, and it's then the tears come. My voice broke when I murmured my goodbyes to him, when I told him that I never meant for this to happen...when the apologies worked their way out to ears that were deaf to them. 

I climbed out of that hole however long later. Time just didn't seem to be an important concept now that the only person I wanted to spend it with was gone. 

At first I looked away when the initial shovelfuls of diets hit his body. But that was a coward’s way out, and I would not afford myself that luxury. I forced myself to watch each subsequent shovelful cover Bucky’s body, made myself burn the sound of earth hitting the skin of his face to memory. 

If I had only told Tony the truth about his parents’ death long ago, Bucky would still be here.

If I had been that bit better, I could have avoided the blow from Tony’s armored hand which incapacitated me enough for Bucky to recklessly engage him. 

If I had only been faster in recovering, I could have pulled Bucky to the side when the blast went off. He would have lost an arm, sure, but he would still be alive.

If only, if only, if only…

I took note of every single one of the things I did that contributed to Bucky’s death as I tamped the dirt down with the shovel. I would remind myself of these things every day, until my last. 

After the grave is filled, and only a rectangle of disturbed earth is present, I let the shovel fall from my hands with a dull clatter against the ground. After a few minutes of staring dully at the work I just finished, I realized that Bucky needed a headstone. A grave wasn't a grave without a headstone, and Bucky deserved one. 

My eyes spotted my shield laying off to the side of the grave. I guess I had tossed it there at some point while I was digging. Picking it up, I held it high above my head and then thrust it into the ground at the head of the grave, burying it halfway into the earth. I wouldn't need the shield anymore, anyway. And considering what it stood for, Bucky deserved it more than I do. 

Besides, I was no longer Captain America. I ceased to be Captain America the second Bucky’s heart got burnt out of his chest. 

Now, I'm just Steve Rogers. The man who got his best friend - the love of his life - killed. Who was with him until the end of the line that was cut prematurely short.

And now I have to figure out how to go on without him...

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a fan fic before, so I thought I'd get this one shot out to see what kind of reception it'd receive.
> 
> To all those who've read this, thank you very much!


End file.
